Numbers
by SuperAwesomeFunTime
Summary: In a world where numbers decide your place, an aristocrat and a criminal fall in love. (au, from my ao3)
1. The steamworks

0.  
100.  
200.  
300.  
400.  
500.  
600.  
0 through 100 through 200 through 300 through 400 through 500 through 600.  
In this world, numbers override real human thought.  
Numbers run us.  
We all have a number based on our family- the people who first came here. The first digit to indicate class, the second to indicate family, third to indicate where and who we are in that family. It's printed on our skin, a constant reminder of what we've been born into.  
There are only 699 people in the Numeration.  
It's rumoured that the 700 is also the 000- the ruler of our small world.  
The 000s are the government agents of the highest class- politicians, royalty, everyone important and powerful. They're incredibly rich, located in a part of the Numeration called the Hills.  
The 100s are the regular rich folk- but still very wealthy. They're mostly snobs who shit on anyone 300 or lower.  
The 200s are a bit nicer, but only the low 200s- most high 200 people are also snobby shitheads who like to act like they're a 100.  
The 300s are the regular middle class people. They simply aren't as important- they're referred to usually as the Steamworkers, because they work and live in the Steamworks with the 400s and 500s (not all of them live there, but most are required to live there). They're hivemind people who swoon to anything a 200 would say. A lot of them are common shitheads who act like 200s, like they're so much better just because they don't live in the Steamworks.  
The 400s have it pretty hard- they're the criminal class. They or someone in their family committed some atrocity, so the rest of their lineage (the third digit resets after 9) will have to be a 400 for the rest of time. 300s and lower are able to rebrand (get a new number/change the first digit) but the 400s aren't (even if they could, rebranding is expensive and since the 400s work and live with the 500s in the Steamworks, they probably can't afford it. Not many 300s or 500s rebrand.) They have the same standard as 500s.  
The 500s are the typical lower class- poor people. A lot of people would have you think the 500s are evil or something just because they're poor (which is completely untrue).  
The 600s are the true working class. They do lots of manual labor and live in government quarters and are expense-paid in full (even though it's not very good living) and they provide everyone with food and water. Everything is Steampowered here- nothing runs on dead dinosaurs anymore. A long time ago the Numeration (formerly known as the EU) figured that it isn't healthy for the world and that they should just run on the water that is literally engulfing the Earth- for free. So make things run faster, the Sciences discovered that adding chlorine and ammonium would charge the water to steam quicker.  
This story is about a certain 400- number 416, usually known as "Toolshed", because he works in the Clockery (many 400s and lower don't use their real names when referring to each other), which is more of a repair shop than an actual Clockery. The Clockery is located in the nicer part of the Steamworks, which isn't really saying much because the Steamworks is still the Steamworks.  
It's nicer because there's a real garden next to it- most people in the Numeration haven't seen a real one since the fires ravaged the Earth, killing mostbr /flowers, but some time ago a kind 200(?) started it and it's been beautiful since. Many 300s come here- so much that the owner of the Clockery, a young 500 named Chaos, (a name handed down to him by his father, he certainly didn't pick it- he would have picked something else, like his real name, Butters Scotch. The Clockery was also handed down to him. Butters doesn't know shit about machines) had had to start asking for numbers so that the 300s who tear things up would be denied access. Of course, this plan did not work for 517, as he is very small and rather unintimidating.  
Not that this was bad- the now 21-year-old has short pale blond hair that soft curls above his eyebrows and his ears, shaved on the underside. He has not been keeping it shaved closely lately, so the underside has become like a sort of peach fuzz. He is rather small, and has a more rounded face than his colleagues and a rather doe-eyed gaze through blue eyes, colourful as a cloudless sky, still teeming with life and hope, unlike most other 500s. He wears the standard sweatshirt of 500s, white (or, off-white now, with occasional oil stains and spark burns here and there) and cargo shorts that carry many pennies and bolts, which really is a disadvantage for Butters whenever he tries to buy something (they're all mixed together in his pockets).  
The man (if we can call him that, he's only 23) we are SUPPOSED to be fixating on, number 416 (Toolshed) is currently working on his grandfather's watch. It's an old watch, from before the Ravage, and does not run on steam power. It runs on an old, old powersource called a battery (he knows this because it's etched onto the back of the silver watch, an odd contrast to the mostly-gold coloured Numeration). He's currently tricking it to run on steam.  
Toolshed has shaggy, jet black hair. It's thick, so he never brushes it, and his bangs are flat against his glabella with sweat from the overheated Clockery. It's kind of his fault for that- he likes to dress as if it's winter, even when it's not. He has thick eyebrows and his skin is a lighter shade of olive. His eyes are slightly slanted downward, his nose small, and medium sized lips pressed into a slight frown as he works. He wears the 500 shirt, the same one Butters is wearing, but over it he wears a collared, black, pinstripe-esque shirt he inherited from his father (though he despises him- he is the reason he is a 400, evenbr /though it's a step up from what his family were, 500s). On top of that, he wears standard navy jumpsuit-overalls of the mechs in the Clockery, with gold buttons shaped like gears for the straps and a brown, leather belt which has keys and tools attached to it. All the 500s and 400s wear the same leather boots with faux-fur lining to keep them warm in the winter. When he's working with fire, he wears a pair of brass goggles that have a thin, gear shaped lining to them. Whenever he's not, they rest on the top of his head.  
It's 5.06pm, almost closing time. A 300 who works in the Clockery, number 347, a pretty, black-haired 22-year-old whos name is Wendy Joline Testaburger, calls out to Toolshed.  
"You should go home soon."  
"Five more minutes, mom," he says back, sharing a laugh with the younger girl, "I'll be going home at 6."  
"Don't forget to eat."  
Toolshed doesn't respond, already engrossed in the watch again. Wendy sighs and punches her card, clocking out. After a quick glance his way, she leaves the  
Clockery for her home in the Steamworks.  
The boy doesn't expect anyone to come in this late at night, when the sun is almost halfway through its evening bath of reds and oranges in the sea. Naturally,  
it startles him when the bell on the door rings, indicating that someone entered the shop. He expects it to be number 578, Kenny Eli McCormick, coming to hang out with him, so he doesn't really glance up for a few seconds.  
The person it turns out to be is someone he never thought it would be. He takes a glance at the young man's left hand, and sees the number 226 inked on it. 226br /was dressed in fine clothes- appropriate for his status. He was wearing a dark, reddish purple silken neck scarf, a white dress shirt and a white, black-buttoned vest over it. He wore dark grey dress pants and shiny black leather shoes. Obvious fashion choices of a 200. He had pale skin, but not in an unhealthy or unnatural kind of way. He was pale in a beautiful kind of way, like his skin were the moon and his many freckles were the stars. He had fiery red hair, curled naturally in a way that made Toolshed want to both run his fingers through it and clean himself up just to appear favourable to this man. 226 had sea green eyes, with yellow and white flecks in them like sea foam, and a long, big nose that accentuated his face gorgeously. He clutched a silver watch in his right hand, the same battery-powered kind that Toolshed had been working on. Not the same watch, no- but the same kind.  
Toolshed was enamored by him almost instantly.  
226 glanced around the room, the uncleanliness of it obviously unsettling him- the Late Hills, where the 100s and 200s live, are a lot more polished than a oily mech shop. He sounded a little jumpy when he spoke. "C-Can you, um.. fix this?" He held out the watch for Toolshed to see.  
Toolshed simply nodded, setting down his own watch on the counter he was sitting at. He was blushing, hard, but probably could not tell due to how hot it already was in the back of the shop. He cleared his throat, trying to collect himself from making a huge mistake, falling for someone he could never go after.  
"It's battery-powered, right?"  
226 nodded.  
Toolshed holds out his hand for 226 to hand the watch over, and 226 complies. He sets the watch next to his own, and pulls out a clipboard with fibre paper and an ink pen. "Name?" He's only asking the preferred name out of politeness- he knows his number already. Toolshed's own number is concealed by his shirt- if a Monitor walked in, he'd have to pull it up, but the longer this gorgeous young man doesn't know his number, the better.  
"K-Kyle Broflovski." Toolshed doesn't say anything, but raises an eyebrow a little. Sheila Broflovski was a famous spokesperson and political critic- was there any relation? If there was, why was her son in the Steamworks so late at night?  
Kyle- Toolshed thinks this name is gorgeous, just like the face it belongs to, and quietly hates himself for thinking so- speaks up after a few moments of silence as Toolshed writes his name on the order form. "Sorry for coming in so late- It's, um, some kind of old watch my dad gave to me, from before the Ravage, and asked me to find somewhere to fix it."  
For a second, we will fixate on Kyle.  
When Kyle Broflovski, number 226, walked into the Clockery, he did not expect to meet the potential most gorgeous man on Planet Earth- so he was a little crushed when he did. Kyle thought this mechanic was the most beautiful thing he's seen, and he lives in the Late Hills, which is full of perfectly pretty people- but this boy, THIS boy, he was perfect- which is why he was crushed. His mother was in fact Shiela Broflovski, an active spokesperson for the eradication of 400s, not to mention number 225, and would NEVER let him get with someone from the Steamworks, no matter how pretty.  
Kyle's pretty sure he's blushing too hard for his own good, and that he's making it awkward. He tries to make it not awkward, and breaks the silence, again, with a polite, "Is it hot in here?"  
The black-haired boy smiles a little bit, pulling it out of the slight frown he had had since Kyle walked in- and Kyle was enchanted. The boy replied, "Yeah. We work with a lot of metal, making custom parts, so there's fires and steam running most of the time."  
Kyle is glad that the boy is talking to him, and has a little smile on his face when he catches himself staring at his deep brown eyes. "Sorry- you know, for staring- I, um, can't really help it. You're.. you're kind of the most beautiful person I've ever seen." Kyle does not know what the hell he is doing, but the boy- after another quick glance to the brass nametag pinned to the boy's shirt, he learns his name is Toolshed- the boy's face goes red.  
Toolshed is flustered, and is stumbling over his words at this point, forcing out something that's probably supposed to be a response; "I- um. Thank you? I, really, uhm- I don't know what to- that's really kind- I just- uhm, y-yeah." Kyle takes silent pride as he asks, still not knowing what the hell he thinks he's doing, "What's your ringer?" He does not know that as a 400, Toolshed is not permitted to have a ringer, and he is trying to quickly come up with a lie. "M-My ringer is... 578982. I share it with my coworker because we, um, can't afford one ourselves, haha.." He hopes Kyle will understand. This IS the Steamworks, after all.  
"Uh, cool. I'll see you later, I guess?" "Yeah, cool." And out he walked.  
Toolshed sighs and jumps a little when 578, Kenny, starts laughing from the doorway to the steam room. "Dude, you used my ringer? What the fuck? That's actually hilarious, dude." He laughed some more, shrugging off his orange parka.  
Kenny Eli McCormick is a tall, peach-skinned young man with a small bit of muscle and some serious dark circles. He has unkempt, strawberry blond hair and light freckles splashed across his nose. His eyes are big but soft, the softest grey imaginable, like a cloud when it's not quite pouring but not so soft as drizzling. He wears the 500 shirt and ripped-up working jeans, and the 500 shoes. His clothes are quite plain, which draws attention to his face, especially when he smiles. Kenny has the gentlest, most angelic smile Toolshed has ever seen, and gets the same feeling of closeness and warmth every time he sees it.  
The beat up, bright orange parka, which has brown fur lining the hood and hem and drawstrings to close the hood (which Kenny does when he wants to hide himself), was given to him as a gift from a particularly sweet 200 that fancied Kenny a while ago. Her number was 249, and Toolshed does not remember her name, but remembers she had curly blond hair and gleaming hazel eyes. She doesn't fancy him anymore, once she found out he was a little too fond of number 534, a rather nervous and jumpy young man named Tweek.  
"Shut up, I seriously didn't know what to do! I couldn't have that... I don't even know if that kind of person is a human. He's like an angel or something."  
"That's gay, Toolshed."  
"Sorry for using your number."  
/div


	2. The garden

The next day was a blur for the both of them. Toolshed and Kyle met in the garden behind the Clockery that day, and that night. The first time they were awkward, trying to get to know each other without spilling too much.

Toolshed learned that Kyle was kind. He was kind but stubborn and firmly stood with what he believed in, and was gentle to what he loved. Toolshed admired that about him.

Kyle learned that Toolshed was soft to every living creature on the Earth- but had harsh words about certain humans, not that Kyle disagreed with him- just that he could have been a little kinder. Kyle loved his bravery.

They met every day and night from then on. They would talk- about anything. Everything. Kyle's mum thought he was courting some 300 girl and Kenny would cover for Toolshed at the Clockery.

You could imagine their dismay when Toolshed finished the watches.

Kyle strode up to the counter of the Clockery at 3.09pm, a lot more at ease than he was the first time he came here. He was no longer bothered by the heat. His hands were in his pockets, and he casually said, "Progress?"

Toolshed grinned and said, "Actually, I finished." Kyle was worried they wouldn't meet again in the garden anymore- but Toolshed's eyes spoke reassurances to him silently as he paid for the repair and put the watch on.

Toolshed glanced at Kenny, who simply nodded and moved to take the other's place at the counter. He gently took Kyle's hand as they head out the back door.

They found a shady spot near the azaelias, and sat in silence for a few moments before saying, "You never told me your number." Toolshed bit his lip- he wasn't sure he wanted Kyle to know, he wasn't sure if Kyle would think differently of him, he wasn't sure of a lot of things.

"Does it matter?" "Of course it does- I want to know your name."

The black-haired boy was a little confused. "You can tell my name from my number?"

Kyle laughed a quick, light laugh. "Everything's in the database- all names and numbers are linked."

That made Toolshed feel worse about telling him. "You won't like it."

Kyle snorted- a sound Toolshed never thought he would hear. "Because you're a 500? Try me. Can I see your arm?"

Hot tears quickly rose to Toolshed's eyes as he held out his arm for 226 to inspect. He looked away as Kyle gently pushed up his sleeve with his thin, pale fingers, and shut his eyes so he wouldn't see his face when he found out- or when he heard Kyle's soft gasp.

"Stan- Your name is Stan," Kyle said breathlessly, "Stan Bradley Marsh." Stan opened his eyes and looked over to see Kyle with stardust in his eyes, completely enamored by the sound of his name. Kyle seemed to not care he was a 400- for the time being. Stan could only stare at him, and Kyle was the same.

Before they knew it, they were leaning into each other, Kyle kissing Stan's tearstained cheeks until he got to his lips, which were chapped and red from years of a harsh working enviornment- but he didn't care, because they were Stan's and they tasted like him and everything he loved about him. When Kyle leaned in more he accidentally stepped on a lone, wild pink carnation growing underneath them, but he paid no mind as Stan kissed back, treating Kyle like he was the fragilest, most beautiful glass Stan had ever smelt, the rarest in the whole Steamworks, as if he were a fine piece of art- and loved every second.

"Are-Is this- we're-" Stan stammered, but Kyle just shushed him with a "Yes". 416 was wondering if they were a together thing now- because 400s weren't allowed to have free reign on their romantic endeavors. They had to get a permit, and it was harder if they were opposite-gender - it was just the bias of the Numeration. They placed limits such as "400s cannot be romantically involved with other 400s" or "400s cannot have intercourse without a permit" and various other bullshit.

"It'll be okay."


End file.
